


wake up and smell the charms

by dreamtowns



Series: insomnia after dark [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Witches, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Language, Secrets, everyone else is mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 10:23:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21242564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtowns/pseuds/dreamtowns
Summary: His hyperactive imagination from childhood has caught up to him, and he’s, like, hallucinating or something. What’s next, he’s going to see ghosts floating through the wall? A demon summoning circle in the bathroom? Witches, and vampires, and werewolves, and the like—they don’t exist. Prompto’s brain is just overcompensating to explain the weirdness that is his friend group and maybe-boyfriend.There’s no such thing as the supernatural. They’re just fairy tales and scary stories told around a campfire; costumes and makeup and young adult novels for the popular media. Prompto is definitely not the only human in his social circle.“There’s no such thing,” Prompto echoes, to no one in particular.“What’s ‘no such thing’?” Noctis questions from behind him. Prompto screams.





	wake up and smell the charms

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Final Fantasy XV. All rights reserved to its developers: Square Enix. All that is mine is the plot of this story in particular and any original characters introduced. No copyright infringement intended. No money is being made from this work. This is purely for entertainment purposes.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! I wrote this very quickly for Halloween! 
> 
> The title honestly makes no sense, but it's a play on "wake up and smell the roses."

Prompto isn’t a suspicious person by nature, but there are just some things that he can’t help but notice when he’s within Noctis’ line of sight. There’s an unspoken agreement between the two of them, that they don’t ask prying questions about family members and distant pasts, that there are just some things that are _untouchable _(like whenever Noctis comes home smelling of blood, of incense, of other scents that makes Prompto’s head spin), and Prompto respects that. He does.

But, really, Noctis isn’t even making an effort anymore.

Here are the facts:

1.) Besides the whole coming-home-smelling-like-questionable-substances, sometimes Noctis makes . . . concoctions (and this is Prompto being _nice_, okay) in the kitchen.

They bubble. They gurgle. They fucking _hiss _whenever Prompto stares at it for too long. They stink up the apartment sometimes; enough that their landlady would politely knock on their door and ask if everything was alright.

Prompto once asked if he could do a taste test, back in the earlier days when he just thought Noctis was weird, and Noctis’ eyes went wide, and a little terrified, and shot Prompto down immediately, and then made him pinky promise to never, ever consume anything Noctis made unless he handed it to him.

2.) Noctis liked to craft things.

Now, this by itself isn’t suspicious—up until Prompto realized the little trinkets (phone charms, and little patches, and knitted figurines, and the like) were always warm. They pulsed in tune with Prompto’s heartbeat. Sometimes, on his bad days, he’d slap on the beaded blue-and-green bracelet Noctis gave him only a few short hours after Prompto talked (read: word-vomited) about his anxiety problems, and it’d be a soothing balm to the anxiety welling up to his throat.

Some of them made him feel like he were invisible—like the little necklace charm he wore when _something _broke into their apartment, looking for Noctis, and grumbled that “There was no one here.”—and some of them just made him feel protected, feel safe. Noctis always insisted he had some sort of charm or whatever on him whenever Prompto left the apartment.

3.) When Noctis hummed certain things under his breath, never songs that Prompto knew, his fingers glowed.

Different tunes corresponded to a different color, but his fingers glowed. A soft glow, barely-there beneath the living room lights, but they existed. Prompto went and had his eyes checked _twice_, and there they remained.

4.) Noctis sleep-talks.

Most of the things he mutters in sleep are not a part of the modern language. Prompto’s already Moogle’d the phrases various times, and all he got for his trouble was a virus that broke his computer (sadly).

5.) Noctis . . . childhood (family?) friends were definitely _not _human. Not like Prompto, at least.

Gladio’s size alone was suspicious, but sometimes, when he was angry or frustrated or just plain excited over something, he growled. Like, an actual, animalistic growl that spiked Prompto’s anxiety through the ceiling the first time he heard it. Gladio was oddly absent around full moons. Ignis was just too impeccable and graceful to be anything other than human. He had the distinct smell of blood, and there was just something _not-right _about him that made Prompto feel like an injured animal backed into a corner by a snarling predator. Their landlady, coincidentally one of Noctis’ childhood friends, Lunafreya, just plain spoke and acted like she was some Fae Queen. Her brother, Ravus, had an odd disdain for Prompto whenever they interacted and liked to call him an “oblivious pet.”

That’s not touching their other neighbors, all people that Noctis knows and grew up around: Iris, and Crowe, and Libertus, and Monica, and Cor, and—

Yeah.

There’s no fucking way they’re all human.

If they are, Prompto’s going to eat his tennis shoes.

Anyway.

Prompto’s pretty sure his roommate (boyfriend? Prompto really doesn’t know what the hell he and Noctis are, but they’re _something_, that’s for sure) is a witch. Or is the correct term wizard? Warlock? Wix? Wicca?

Ah, hell.

There’s the headache.

A voice rumbles in his ear. “What’re you thinking so hard about?”

Prompto drops the book in his hands (he’s been staring at the same paragraph for the past hour, too consumed in his thoughts about the conspiracy surrounding him to pay much attention to the text) and shrieks.

_“Gladiolus.” _Comes Noctis’ reproach, snapped and protective, from the kitchen. “Stop scaring Prompto, please.”

Prompto presses a hand against his heart, feeling it flutter beneath his touch. The charm on his bracelet, a cute little chocobo, pulses in tune with his heartbeat. He swallows around a dry throat and breathes through his nose.

“You scared the hell outta me,” says Prompto, and jokingly glares at Gladio until he puts his palms upright in appeasement. “I almost swallowed my lung.”

Gladio snorts but does look apologetic. “Sorry, kid. Forgot you hum—uh, you scare easily.”

Prompto narrows his eyes. _Was he just about to say ‘humans’? _“Right,” he says after a pause, one that’s pointedly long. “You know me, jumpy and all.”

Scent coil and drift in the air—not pleasant ones, and Prompto wrinkles his nose. It smells like spoiled milk and dirty gym socks left in the summer sun for fourteen weeks. Noctis hums another song under his breath, no words, only a melody. If Prompto squints, he can see the faintest echo of green.

“Noct.” Gladio looks personally offended at the smell. “The hell are you making?”

“A thing,” Noctis replies, distantly. “Iggy wants it.”

Prompto doesn’t know what they’re talking about—he never does, and no he isn’t bitter about it (he kind of, lowkey _is_)—but Gladio does, and his questions about Noctis’ newest concoction dissipate as if they were never there in the first place. With a soft huff, Prompto returns to his book. It’s one he’s read thousand of times, but it’s never grown old.

After a few minutes of quiet, Gladio ambles into the kitchen. He and Noctis begin a conversation, but its’ muffled. Far too muffled for the short distance between the living room and the kitchen. It sounds a little bit like they’re underwater, to Prompto’s ears. It’s as if someone put up a spell to ward off eavesdropping.

Prompto turns the page and huffs again.

* * *

They’re not even trying to hide it anymore.

Or maybe Prompto’s finally opened his eyes?

* * *

Maybe Prompto’s overreacting. His hyperactive imagination from childhood has caught up to him, and he’s, like, hallucinating or something. What’s next, he’s going to see ghosts floating through the wall? A demon summoning circle in the bathroom? Witches, and vampires, and werewolves, and the like—they don’t exist. Prompto’s brain is just overcompensating to explain the weirdness that is his friend group and maybe-boyfriend.

There’s no such thing as the supernatural. They’re just fairy tales and scary stories told around a campfire; costumes and makeup and young adult novels for the popular media. Prompto is definitely _not _the only human in his social circle.

He nods, appeased. His fingers still tremble around the hardcover of his book. The _tick-tock _of Noctis’ small grandfather clock (that his mysterious father gifted them upon moving in) floats in the air, and normally the sound makes Prompto feel safe and calm. It only makes him break out into goosebumps.

He breathes through his nose. The sound echoes in the apartment. Noctis had left a few hours ago, to take care of “a thing with Iggy.” Prompto didn’t ask, and Noctis didn’t elaborate. Most days, it was like that.

But. He digresses.

“There’s no such thing,” Prompto echoes, to no one in particular.

“What’s ‘no such thing’?” Noctis questions from behind him.

Prompto screams (again; he does that a lot ever since he moved into the apartment) and promptly chucks his biochemistry textbook at Noctis’ head. It’s a heavy textbook, exceeding 600 pages, but Noctis dodges it as if it were a fucking crumpled paper ball.

“You’re being weird,” Noctis says after a pause, eyeing Prompto, and creeps closer until he’s all-but straddling Prompto on the couch, palms squishing Prompto’s cheeks. “Are you okay?” A pause. Narrowed eyes. “Did something – happen?”

“No,” Prompto says, as best as he can with his cheeks squished. “I’m – fine.”

_I’m not fine, _he thinks. _I’m losing my mother fucking mind._

Noctis looks unimpressed. “Uh-huh.”

“’s true!”

“Sure, baby,” Noctis says and removes his hands. “But if anything _does_ happen, you’ll let me know, right?”

Prompto swallows around a dry tongue. “I mean, yeah, but what’ll happen? We live in a quiet part of town, you know?”

Noctis has that unreadable look in his eyes again, a look he always gets whenever Prompto gets injured from being clumsy, or when he’s anxious, or the many, many times someone broke into their house and the only thing saving Prompto was one of Noctis’ weird bracelet charms.

“Not everyone is as nice as me,” Noctis says after a long, stretching pause. “Just . . . just promise me, okay? Anything happens, you let me know, alright?”

Prompto nods, and Noctis ignores how – shaky, it is. “Of course.”

“Good.” Noctis gives a firm nod and then kisses Prompto, soft and firm and as lovely as all the other kisses they’ve shared. “I’d lose my mind if I lost my baby, you know?”

Prompto wrinkles his nose, but he’s smiling regardless. “Ugh. You’re such a _dork_.”

Warningly, Noctis rests his hands on Prompto hips. “I _will _tickle you.”

“No,” Prompto gasps, as dramatic as ever. “You know I’m ticklish!”

Noctis’ smile is impish and bright. “Maybe,” he drawls, “if I get a kiss, I won’t tickle you.”

Prompto rolls his eyes but obliges. He’d never say no to kissing Noctis—it’s one of his favorite things to do.

* * *

Halloween crawls around the corner. Prompto’s convinced (not really) himself he’s just overreacting. His windowsill garden is thriving. The full moon looms ahead. There’s a stranger bleeding out on his couch. Right on his knitted, limited-edition, black Chocobo and Moogle blanket that he almost got his tooth knocked out for by an overzealous fifteen-year-old. Noctis’ bent over them, an industrial-size first aid kit on the floor by his feet.

Wait.

What.

Prompto drops the groceries, and then makes a horrifying noise in the back of his throat because _oh my god, the eggs, the eggs, I just fucking dropped the fucking eggs, oh my god—_

“Prom!” Noctis’ face is white; paler than normal. He’s . . . he looks a little terrified that Prompto’s there. “You – you said you were going to the store.”

It almost sounds accusing.

Slowly, not removing his eyes from the stranger _still bleeding on the fucking couch_, Prompto points to the dismayed slump of groceries on the floor. “I, uh, did . . . go to the store.”

The stranger rustles, propping themselves up on one elbow, and gives Prompto a curious once-over. “So _this _is the notorious Prompto,” they say, smiling, and Prompto makes another noise because, uh, hey those were some fucking sharp teeth, what the fuck. “Nice to meet you, kid.” 

“Um.” Prompto blinks, eyes fixed on the teeth. “Hi.”

Noctis pinches the stranger’s side, oddly pleased at their hiss, and says, “Stop that. Prom, this is . . . uh . . . a family friend.”

“Nyx,” says the stranger. “Nyx Ulric.”

Prompto coughs and then trails his gaze toward the wound Noctis is dressing. “Do you, um, want help? What happened?” At both of their pauses, he keeps his smile light but worried. Unknowing. “Halloween party gone wild, huh?” And because he can’t fucking keep his mouth shut, he adds, to Nyx, “Nice fake teeth, dude.”

Nyx’s jaw drop is very, very hilarious.

“Prompto,” Noctis says, in one of his please-don’t-argue-with-me-I’m-concerned-about-your-safety tones. “Maybe you should go unpack the groceries? I can handle this cry baby.”

Nyx sputters. “I’m _not _a cry baby.”

“Sure,” says Noctis, drier than the Leiden desert.

Prompto hides his laughter behind his hand. “Sure thing. Uh – hope you feel better, Nyx,” he adds over his shoulder, as he’s picked up the grocery bags and walks toward the kitchen.

The last thing he hears from Nyx before the living room sounds like it’s been submerged underwater is “I thought Crowe and Libs were pulling my leg, he _really doesn’t know—.”_

Prompto clucks his tongue and sighs. He hopes the eggs survived their fall.

* * *

(They were fine, but his tomatoes sure weren’t. 

Prompto keeps adding things to The List. He’s not sure if it’s ever going to end.)

* * *

Here are some more facts:

6.) Sometimes, Noctis looks at Prompto as if he’d disappear. Right in front of his face.

Prompto doesn’t really know Noctis’ history. Doesn’t know his past. Doesn’t understand the many charms and trinkets he presses into Prompto’s hands. Doesn’t really get why his roommate-best friend-what-the-fuck-_ever _gets afraid, and protective, and anxious when Prompto has to leave the apartment and doesn’t respond to texts.

(So.

Okay.

So, maybe there was a kidnapping attempt here and there, but Prompto is fine. He got out. He might be a squishy human, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to be a helpless squishy human.)

7.) The apartment is decked out in wards and the like.

At least, Prompto assumes it is. The walls are warm underneath his palms—and not warm in the sense that the weather is hot or the air conditioning it set to ‘heat’, but warm in the sense that it is _alive_. Cognizant, at least; beating like a heartbeat when Prompto touches it.

He does not feel unsafe in the halls, not even during the various break-ins, when strangers who meant harm could not find Prompto as he kept himself small and quiet in the bedroom closet. Sometimes, things Prompto is looking for suddenly appears in his line of view. His bookbag is in the bedroom, but it is suddenly on the living room armchair when he absentmindedly complains about getting up to retrieve his homework. Cups and plates that are too high for him to reach are on the counter when he turns around to look for a step stool. The stove never overheats. Never burns the food Prompto makes.

_I’m living in Howls’ Moving Castle_, he texts his cousin.

Loqi responds with a paragraph of question marks and a _are you high?? _

8.) They don’t really talk about family.

At least, Prompto doesn’t. Noctis does at random times; small things that slip through about his father and his father’s partner who is, apparently, somehow unsurprisingly, Gladio and Iris’ father, Clarus Amicitia.

But Prompto says nothing of his family, of their existence.

(In all honesty, he’d rather they _didn’t _exist. In some weird, twisted way, he’s a little grateful of them, of all that happened back in the dismantled Empire.

He wouldn’t have met Noctis if it hadn’t.)

But. Still.

His family is quite a vulnerable subject for Prompto. Iris once asked, innocently, if Prompto would be going home for the holidays, if he’d spend them with family, and Prompto, embarrassingly enough, immediately burst into tears and excused himself to the bathroom where he then had a thirty-minute panic attack in the bathtub.

No one talked about Prompto family after that.

* * *

“You shouldn’t be walking alone at night.”

Prompto, thankfully, doesn’t scream. He does, however, squeak and whirl around, heart pounding in his ears, stomach sinking to the floor, but calms, only slightly, at Ignis’ unreadable expression. The slight smell of blood makes him want to shudder, though. “W-What?”

“You shouldn’t walk by yourself at night,” Ignis repeats as he falls into step with Prompto. “It’s dangerous at this hour, Prompto.”

“Uh,” says Prompto, because what else should he say? “Okay. But tell that to my professor.”

“Gladly,” Ignis responds.

Prompto laughs, nervously. He really hopes that was a joke. He continues walking a path he’s walked for months, now. He’s proud to say that there isn’t any hesitance in his steps.

“I’m serious, though,” Ignis says after a pause. “You worry His Highness.”

“Highness?” Prompto blinks and then snorts, loudly. “You mean, Noct? I guess he’s a prince, alright—of napping.”

Ignis cracks a small smile. “He _is _rather dedicated to his sleep, isn’t he?”

Prompto thinks there’s a lot of unspoken words in that sentence but agrees with a soft hum. They walk in silence after that, Ignis keeping a keen eye on their surroundings as he walks alongside Prompto, who has the uncanny feeling he’s being _escorted_.

He only shakes his head.

Weird.

Everyone’s just so fucking _weird_.

When he arrives home, Noctis is back in the kitchen. He’s not making anything that smells, though, thank the gods because there’s only so much Prompto can take smelling mothballs, and turns as Prompto enters. His smile falls a little as Ignis appears in the doorway.

“Iggy?” Noctis tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing. “What happened? What’s going on?”

“I simply walked Prompto home,” Ignis explains smoothly, like Prompto is a small child who needs handling.

When Noctis turns his gaze to Prompto, he asks, “You sure everything’s okay, baby?”

_Are any of you gonna explain what the hells’ going on?_

“Yup,” says Prompto, and distantly hopes there’s no such thing as a lying detector spell, and smiles just a little too wide. “Just peachy.”

* * *

_There’s something we have to talk about_, the text reads.

Prompto almost ignores Loqi. Almost. _About what? Can it wait?_

_No, _Loqi replies, as irritating as he always is, and then—_are you sitting down?_

He purses his lips and then glances around him. Ignis is in the kitchen, baking something, and Iris sits on the island counter, chatting with him about something her classmates did; Gladio is on the armchair, nestled comfortably with a book. Noctis is curled on the other end of the couch, knitting – something. The faintest hint of lilac glows from his fingertips.

Noctis catches his eye. “You okay, baby?”

“Uh huh,” Prompto tries to smile. Noctis looks unimpressed. “Just – um. I gotta take this call.”

Amidst concerned gazes, Prompto edges inside his bedroom and calls Loqi. “What’s going on?”

_“Are you siting down?” _Loqi replies. They were never bothered much with typical greetings.

“Yes,” Prompto says, even though he really isn’t. “Now, what is it? Are you hurt? Are you okay? Are—?”

_“It’s about your father.”_

Prompto, distantly, kind of wished he took Loqi’s advice.

* * *

Here’s the thing:

Prompto’s isn’t supposed to be alive.

But he is, and that knowledge haunts him every time he breathes.

* * *

Prompto returns from his impromptu trip to Niflheim in a daze. He doesn’t even take notes of all the strange happenings of Noctis and their other friends, barely notices the increase in charms and trinkets that Noctis presses into his hands, barely hears the quiet spells Noctis murmurs against his forehead at night.

He’s just.

There.

Existing.

It ends in little more than two weeks after his return. He and Noctis are cuddling on the bed (another one of his favorite things in the world), and Prompto’s trying to breathe back life into his skin, when Noctis reaches over and entwines their fingers. It sends warmth up Prompto’s arm, something soft and fierce that constricts his lungs.

“Did someone hurt you?

It’s so quiet, Prompto almost doesn’t hear it.

“No,” says Prompto, once he’s rediscovered how to speak. “No. It’s just – family stuff.”

‘Family stuff’. Hah. Prompto wants to laugh.

(He wants to cry and never wake up again.)

“Prom,” Noctis starts, soft and persistent, but something roars in Prompto’s ears. His mouth opens on its own, and it’s the silent wake of a battlefield when his question finishes.

“Are you going to tell me about your – your magic?”

It lingers in the air. Much like the poisonous tension at Ghorovas Rift, and—_stop thinking about it, _Prompto tells himself firmly, sensing his incoming detachment. _You’re not there anymore._

Loqi’s going to have to drag him back home kicking and screaming, the next time.

Noctis detangles himself from Prompto, who can’t help the disappointed noise that escapes him, but only to sit upright so that it’s easier to see Prompto. “Baby . . . I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to keep it a secret for so long,” Noctis starts, sounding small and afraid Prompto might be angry, might want to break off – whatever it is that they’re doing. “And . . . and I didn’t want you to be afraid of me, you know? I . . .,” Noctis stops, closes his eyes, and swallows. Prompto hasn’t ever seen Noctis so vulnerable before. He continues after he gathers strength, so quiet and tiny, Prompto’s heart aches. “I just didn’t want to lose you.”

Prompto pulls himself upright and wraps his arms around Noctis’ waist. “You could never make me afraid, and you’re not going to – to lose me,” he says, keeping his gaze on Noctis’ steady. “I’m not mad or anything – I just . . . I was curious, you know? So, I kind of figured it out on my own, but I . . .,” He shrugs, a little shyer, and adds, “I kind of thought you were, like, ashamed I was a human or something—.”

“What?” Noctis interrupts, eyes widening. “No. _Never_. I will _never _be ashamed of you, baby. I promise you that.”

“Well,” Prompto says, a little blank. “That’s . . . that’s good to know.”

Noctis’ shock settles into something fond, and he presses a soft kiss against Prompto’s forehead. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Good to know.”

* * *

“So,” Prompto says, later that night, a little more settled into himself. “You’re like . . . Harry Potter?”

Noctis groans like he’s been skewered in half.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a comment/kudos if you enjoyed it! 
> 
> I think I'm gonna expand on this idea in either a chapter fic or a series, but it's still up in the air at the moment. Anyway, let me know what you think!


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